


Threads of Steel

by IrogicalArgument



Series: The World is Our Sandbox [3]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, angsty, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:38:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrogicalArgument/pseuds/IrogicalArgument
Summary: It was his city, and if he couldn't fight to protect it then he would be there in the aftermath.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Third of my one-shots to be transferred over. Also somewhat related to Iron Threads... but not really.
> 
> Inspired by Pompeii by Bastille

While not unexpected this was certainly not the preferred outcome. To be perfectly honest everything was going to shit, and he was Not Happy. Those words certainly deserved to be capitalized in his mind. Watching as Sephiroth and Cloud destroyed Edge from the safety of a ring of Turks, Rufus could only remember the last time a war between these two had caused the destruction of his city.

And it was his city. First Midgard, which he had inherited from his father and now Edge, which he had funded the construction of when no one else would. These people were his, and this city was his. Watching its destruction Rufus was once again grasping for a positive outcome. Hopefully, Cloud would once again succeed, and maybe the destruction would be enough to convince the warrior to stay. At least he could force Cloud to help remove some of the rubble. With him being one of the strongest men in the world and Edge being too much of a mess to bring in heavy machinery the only way to do work was with nothing but your two hands. To force the regular citizens to clean his mess was something Cloud would never do. Somehow he was still a goody-goody even through everything his father and the ShinRa Corporation had subjected him to in the name of science.

A shiver ran down Rufus’s spine as he recalled Dr. Hojo. The man was a menace and sometimes in his dreams he saw the man silhouetted above him. While he certainly didn’t remember it wasn’t too far of a stretch to believe that his father had demanded the man to experiment on him. As long as they weren’t too damaging, the only thing he was to his father was free labor. More to the point, he was free labor that couldn’t complain.  
Another falling building brought him from his thoughts. At least with this disaster, he could dodge if necessary, even if it would be hard to do in a wheelchair. It was only through pure luck that he escaped death last time his city was destroyed. The blast from the WEAPON was the closest he had ever gotten to death, and he wasn’t keen on a repeat. Watching as the Turks continually cleared the area and removed debris from his path he couldn’t help but think back to earlier times. Back at the start of it all, when he was ruthless in ripping the remnants of the company from his father's flabby hands. 

As before, so again. Where once there were three men who each wanted to live their life to the best of their abilities there now lay two men. Two-thirds of one, two-thirds of the second, and the shattered two-thirds of the last. It was a shame that the two men who might closest understand what he felt were also the two most likely to destroy what he tried so hard to protect.

Closing his eyes Rufus could feel the shocks of the battle cease and was surprised to feel rain pour down on him. It still very rarely rained on this part of Gaia and this rain felt pure and clean, unlike the frequent acid rain. In fact, the rain felt so good it was as if his illness, the Geostigma, was being washed away. Glancing down at his hands Rufus was shocked to realize that the rain had washed away any outward signs of his illness. But among the rubble of his city he could feel the sins he had committed under his skin writhe in anger like a virus itself. His deeds felt tangible to him at times. As if that which he had done to protect his city now condemned him in turn. Sometimes he felt the ghosts of those he had stepped over for success wrap their skeletal hands around his neck. Trying to bring him down to their level.

“Boss Man! We’re ready to leave whenever you are yo.”

The wisps of past sin crumbled under the cheery onslaught of his Turks voice. Slowly standing up he stepped over the invisible remains of his deeds and past the tangible rubble of his crumbling home he couldn’t help but smile. Nothing ever seemed to change with him. What he had was now a crumbled mess and his sins weighed him down like dragging chains. But the people of him home would never let him go. And in return, he would never leave them defenseless. In the end, he would open his eyes, and his city would be before him once more.


End file.
